Thomas Barrow Comes to Downton Abbey
by dustnik
Summary: Set in 1910–1912. A new footman is hired at Downton Abbey. This is a "prequel" to the actual series.
1. Chapter 1

Thomas Barrow sat before the formidable butler, his cloth cap in his hands. Though only twenty-four, he carried himself with the confidence of a much older, more experienced man. A casual observer would never sense the quiet desperation that he felt inside, but a closer look at the threadbare trousers and well-worn shoes told the real story. The aroma of cooking had begun to waft in from the kitchen, and the young man felt his empty stomach rumble.

The butler, Mr. Carson, leaned back in his chair, silently assessing the figure before him. The lad was tall and quite handsome as all footmen should be if possible, dark haired and fair skinned with cool, gray eyes that gave away nothing. "So you're here to apply for the footman position. Have you had any experience?"

"Yes, and I have these." Thomas handed him the references that he had carefully stuffed into his coat pocket.

The butler's bushy eyebrows drew together disapprovingly. "You have no experience in service?"

Thomas felt his heart sink. "No, Mr. Carson, I don't, but I'm a quick learner." He flashed a broad smile that he hoped would convey his willingness.

"Hmm." With Lady Mary's season quickly approaching, the butler needed to find a second footman and soon. The few applicants he had interviewed so far had all proven unsatisfactory for one reason or another, but he had a good feeling about this one. Perhaps it would be better to hire the lad and train him up himself. He would need some polishing, of course, but that could be easily managed. "How soon would you be available?"

Thomas allowed himself a deep breath. "I'm staying down at the pub, so I could start right away." He was secretly hoping to be asked for luncheon.

"Won't you want to see your family first?" For a brief moment, the butler saw the young man's mask slip before regaining its impassive expression.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Carson."

"Very well then. You may begin tomorrow morning."

They hurriedly finalized the arrangements, and the new employee rose to leave. Holding out his hand, he said, "Thank you, Mr. Carson." He smiled again, but the butler noticed that it never quite reached his eyes.

The next morning, Thomas slipped in quietly through the back door of the abbey, still wearing his clothes from the day before. He saw no one but heard female voices and the clattering of heavy pots and pans. He made his way toward the din and nearly collided with a short, stout woman entering the kitchen. "Oh, Lord!" she exclaimed, clutching at her chest. "And who might you be at this hour?"

"I knocked, but no one heard me. My name is Thomas Barrow. I'm the new footman."

"Are you now? Well, you don't believe in letting the grass grow under your feet."

"I like to get an early start." In truth, he was anxious for breakfast. The fish and chips he'd eaten at the pub the day before were now only a distant memory.

"Mr. Carson isn't down yet, so you might as well wait with us in the kitchen. I'm Mrs. Patmore, the cook."

Thomas smiled and nodded an acknowledgment. The younger assistants only gawked at the new arrival while he pretended not to notice. As long as he could remember, he had drawn hungry stares from women of all ages and even from men. He was well aware of his beauty and used it to his advantage when it suited him.

Mrs. Patmore poured him a cup of tea. She noticed his eyes light greedily on a plate of freshly baked scones and offered it to him.

"Thank you. I don't mind if I do." He had to check himself not to wolf them all down.

The cook was a brusque but kind woman, and she could see that the lad had an uncared-for look about him. "Where are you from then?"

"Oh, you know, here and there," Thomas replied vaguely.

"And your family?"

He was spared the trouble of answering by the sudden appearance of a non-descript man of medium height. After determining Thomas' identity, the man introduced himself as Martin, the first footman. He had been instructed by Mr. Carson to show the new lad about. He led the way to the servants' hall where Thomas was told where to stand. Slowly the other servants began to wander in, their eyes immediately drawn to the handsome stranger in their midst. Mr. Carson entered next, accompanied by a middle-aged woman whom Thomas assumed was the housekeeper. Everyone stood at attention until they were seated. Having spotted the new employee, the butler announced, "This is our new footman, Thomas Barrow. I hope everyone will see he gets the help he needs."

Platters of food soon began to appear from the kitchen accompanied by several pots of strong, black tea. While Thomas waited for the food to make its way down to him, he studied the other servants. In particular, he noticed a sour looking woman on the butler's left who seemed to be complaining loudly about something while directly across from the footman sat a pretty, blonde woman. The young woman smiled warmly at him. "I'm Anna Smith, housemaid."

He returned the smile before shifting his attention to the plate of food being set before him.

After breakfast, Martin showed him to his spartan bedroom, and then they were off to find a livery. Thomas had never worn such fine clothes. His hair needed only a little pomade to complete his transformation from shabby ruffian to elegant servant. He studied his reflection in the glass, pleased with what he saw. It was a far cry from where he had begun, living above his father's clock shop in Manchester. Upon seeing him now, the female servants couldn't contain their admiration. "You look very smart in your livery, Thomas," Anna remarked. There were open-mouthed stares and excited giggles behind him as he followed Martin upstairs.

Lord Grantham and his three daughters were seated in the dining room while Mr. Carson presided next to the sideboard. Upon seeing the new footman, the butler made the requisite introductions. "How are you settling in, Thomas?" Lord Grantham inquired.

"Very well, I think. Thank you, m'lord." He tried without success to adjust his low Manchester accent to match the peer's perfect round tones. He noticed the eldest daughter's eyes surreptitiously glide over his sleek frame. When she saw that she had been caught out, she quickly turned away. Soon he found himself in desperate need of a cigarette and slipped outside into the kitchen courtyard. He immediately spotted the unhappy maid from breakfast, also smoking, and joined her. "We haven't met yet. I'm Thomas Barrow, second footman."

She seemed unimpressed. "Miss O'Brien, Her Ladyship's maid."

"What's it like being in service?"

"It's fine if you enjoy being told what to do from morning to night."

"Mr. Carson seems alright to me."

Miss O'Brien turned and gave him a withering glare before grinding out her cigarette and returning inside. He stood there smoking, lost in thought, and didn't notice Anna approach him. "Mr. Carson is looking for you. He wants you to clean the silver for tonight," she told him.

"I'll be there in a minute."

The housemaid made no effort to leave. "I should stay clear of Miss O'Brien if I were you. She isn't very nice."

Thomas didn't reply.

"I'm new here too, you know. I only came last week, and I'm missing my mother and sister so dreadfully. Are you feeling homesick?"

"Not really."

She seemed taken aback. "Don't you miss your family?"

"I left home when I was fifteen, and I haven't been back since."

"It must get lonely."

"I do just fine on my own. In fact, I prefer it," he hinted.

"We all need a friend, Thomas."

"Not me." He hurriedly stubbed out his cigarette. If she knew what he was, the things that he'd done, she wouldn't want to talk to him, let alone be his friend. "I mustn't keep Mr. Carson waiting."

After having observed the luncheon service, he felt confident that he was ready to tackle dinner that night. Lord Grantham's mother, the dowager countess, was joining them and was seated to the right of her son. Across the table, Lady Grantham announced, "Mama, this is our new footman, Thomas."

The old woman turned, and her smile momentarily flickered. "Good luck to you, Thomas." Her sharp, blue eyes met his icy, gray ones. Under her breath, she muttered, "Not that you'll need it."

"Thank you, Your Ladyship."

Mr. Carson smiled contentedly as Thomas glided around the dining room with feline grace and agility. The butler was happily congratulating himself on his wise decision to hire the lad despite his lack of experience. The shorter, graying Martin looked positively old and tired in comparison as he leaned in to serve Lady Grantham.

Next to her mother, sat middle daughter, Lady Edith, a plain, rather awkward young woman. She smiled shyly up at Thomas as he expertly balanced the tray of vegetables in front of her. "I hope you'll be happy here."

"I'm sure I will, m'lady."

Lady Mary glared at her sister, adopting her most disapproving expression.

Violet turned to her son and whispered. "I don't like this."

"What is it, Mama?"

She frowned in the direction of the striking new footman. "My dear, I'm afraid you've placed the cat among the pigeons."


	2. Chapter 2

The weeks passed, and Thomas settled into his position as second footman. The work was undemanding but tedious, and he found himself getting restless. He had learned to avoid Mr. Carson whenever possible as the butler seemed to keep an uncomfortably sharp eye on him. His frequent smoke breaks in the yard had brought him into repeated contact with Miss O'Brien for whom he had developed a grudging respect. The sunny Anna continued her attentions toward him without encouragement.

One morning at breakfast, Mr. Carson distributed the early post as was his daily custom. The occasion was always met with excited twitters as these letters often brought much-desired news from home. Anna had received such a missive from her mother and immediately set about reading it. Thomas had received no mail since arriving at Downton, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the motherly housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes. She often wondered about the pale, self-contained, young man whom Mr. Carson had hired. While his work was impeccable, it seemed to bring him no satisfaction. The other servants found him proud and aloof, and they tended to avoid him. _It must make the lad very lonely_, she thought. She moved nearer to him. "No mail for you, Thomas?"

The footman looked surprised. "Who would be writing to me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"You have no family then?"

He paused. "We don't keep in touch." In truth, no one knew that he was working at Downton. He toyed with the idea of letting his sister know as it might be nice to receive some mail now and then. Anna closed up her letter and offered him a sympathetic smile.

Mr. Carson rose from the table, calling, "Martin, Thomas, fetch the breakfast for upstairs."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," they answered in unison, sparing Thomas any further inquiries in that direction.

It was his half-day, and after luncheon, he set off to York dressed in a new black suit purchased with his first month's wages. Upon arriving, he entered a dark, rather dingy pub boasting the unlikely name of The Swan. He slowly made his way to the bar, aware of the dashing figure he cut in his new clothes. The barman approached, and Thomas ordered a pint of ale. He took a deep swallow of the amber liquid and cast a curious eye about him.

Near the door, a couple of sailors were engrossed in a game of darts, while in the far corner, there sat a group of raucous, rough-looking, working men, probably from one of the cotton mills in the area. At the bar, there was only Thomas and one other patron, a small, dapper man who met and held the footman's gaze. The man threw back his drink in one gulp and exited the pub. After waiting a discreet amount of time, Thomas followed him.

He arrived back at the abbey just after eleven. Everyone had already gone up to bed except Anna who was reading a magazine in the servants' hall. "You're back late. Did you have a good time?"

Thomas forced a smile.

"Where do you go?" she asked curiously.

"That's for me to know, isn't it?" He tried to sound playful.

"Martin says you must have a sweetheart." She paused. "It made me sad this morning when you said that you'd lost touch with your family."

"Please, don't worry about me. Goodnight." He hurried out of the room before she could reply. Why couldn't these people mind their own business?

* * *

Lady Mary lolled in an armchair poring over the latest fashion magazines from Paris. Her first season was approaching, and she wanted to be sure she was up to the mark. On a small sofa, her younger sisters, Lady Edith and Lady Sybil, were happily chatting away. Lord and Lady Grantham had gone to tea at the dowager's, and the girls were left on their own. Mary closed the magazine and rose languidly. "Shall we have our tea?" Without waiting for a reply, she rang the bell.

Almost immediately, Mr. Carson appeared. "Yes, m'lady?"

"May we have some tea, Carson?"

"Of course, m'lady." He turned and slipped quietly out of the room. Soon the door was opened again, and Thomas appeared carrying an elaborate tea service on a large silver tray. The conversation stopped as he expertly poured and served.

"You do that so neatly," Edith complimented him.

"Thank you, m'lady." He offered her a dimpled smile.

Mary took a sip of her tea. "It's cold."

Edith looked embarrassed, "No, it's fine really."

"You must do it over again," Mary ordered in her most imperious tone.

Thomas' entire body stiffened. "Yes, m'lady." He silently gathered up the tea things and exited the room.

"Why did you tell him it was cold when it wasn't?" Edith demanded angrily.

"He needs to be taken down a peg or two. He struts around here like a peacock."

"I think he's very handsome," Sybil opined dreamily.

"Edith certainly thinks so anyway," Mary sniped.

"Why? Just because I'm nice to him? He is a person, you know."

"He's a servant, and he'd do well to remember it."

* * *

It was the night of Lady Mary's ball. Many of the servants had accompanied the family to Grantham House, the Crawleys' London home. Thomas hoped to see some of the sights if he could get time off, but tonight he was expected to serve late into the night. The ballroom was quickly filling up with wealthy aristocrats as Mr. Carson announced the latest arrival in his clear, bass voice. "The Duke of Crowborough."

Thomas looked up from his work. He had never seen a duke before and was slightly disappointed at how normal he appeared. His Grace paid his respects to his host and hostess while Martin and Thomas continued to move about the room, balancing heavy trays of sparkling champagne. The duke lost no time in seeking out Lady Mary. After a dizzying waltz, they were now laughing and conversing easily together in a corner of the ballroom. Mary was at her most charming, smiling and flirting with the young peer while he appeared completely in her thrall. She managed to catch Thomas' eye and gave a slight jerk of her chin. The footman dutifully made his way through the crowd with the tray of drinks. As the duke reached for a glass, he gave Thomas a lingering glance before returning to the delights of his partner.

The night wore on with Lady Mary holding sway over the roomful of eligible young suitors, all clambering for a chance to dance with the tall, slender beauty. Her official entry into society was clearly a smashing success, and Lord and Lady Grantham couldn't be more proud. With the party now in full swing, Thomas thought it a good time to slip outside for a quick cigarette before Mr. Carson had time to miss him.

"It's so terribly hot in there, isn't it?"

Thomas turned to see that the approaching speaker was none other than the Duke of Crowborough. The footman was momentarily taken aback before blurting out, "Could I help you with something, Your Grace?"

The duke merely smiled at him. "Yes, I have a feeling you could." His hand squeezed Thomas' thigh, and he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Winter had arrived in Downton, and the cold was already settling in. Christmas was only days away, and the entire household was caught up in the warm glow of the season. Thomas hated this time of year with its forced gaiety and false displays of good will. The season only heightened his persistent sense of loneliness and isolation. He knew most of the staff despised him and would be glad to see the back of him. Even the stalwart Anna had lost some of her early enthusiasm. His only ally in the house was Miss O'Brien who was nearly as unhappy as he was.

Today was his half-day, but he had resolved to forego the usual carnal pleasures of York. After lunch, he took a long walk about the village, browsing in the various shops and finally purchasing a small bottle of cheap, Irish whiskey. Returning to his sparsely decorated room, he opened the bottle and promptly lit a cigarette. While reaching for the ashtray, his eyes happened on a framed photograph of an attractive, dark-haired woman that he kept on his night table.

Thomas loved to read, and Lord Grantham had generously allowed him to borrow books from his extensive library. He preferred novels, and Dickens was a particular favorite. He liked tales of poor, orphaned boys who find love and riches at the end. If only life were more like a novel. After an hour of reading, the effects of the whiskey and the rolling prose took their toll, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Below stairs, the servants were just sitting down to their dinner. Mr. Carson presided at the head of the table, ladling out steaming bowls of soup from a heavy, iron pot. "Will Thomas not be joining us tonight?"

"He's been up in his room since teatime," Lord Grantham's valet, Mr. Watson, informed them.

Mrs. Hughes looked concerned. "Maybe someone should check on him and make sure he's not ill."

Martin made no attempt to rise, and the hallboys looked at each other fearfully, having felt the sting of Thomas' mercurial temper.

Mrs. Hughes pursed her lips tightly. "Oh, for heaven's sake, I'll go."

"What about your dinner?" Mr. Carson protested.

"I'll be right back." The housekeeper grabbed a candle and mounted the four flights of dark, creaky stairs to the attic where the servants were housed. She turned the key unlocking the door to the men's quarters. Finding the room with the footman's name on it, she knocked sharply. "Thomas, it's Mrs. Hughes. I'm coming in."

Thomas sat up quickly, his heart and head both pounding. The room was dark, and he was momentarily disoriented.

The door opened, and the housekeeper entered, engulfing the space with the warm glow of the candle. The room smelled strongly of cigarettes. Smoking was not allowed in the servants' rooms, but she chose to ignore that now. "Are you alright? You didn't come down for dinner."

"I'm just fine, thank you, Mrs. Hughes." He managed a weak smile. "I must have fallen asleep."

Her sharp eyes spotted the half-empty whiskey bottle. "Have you been drinking?"

"Yes, I have," he admitted.

"All alone? But why are you drinking at all? What makes you so unhappy, lad?" She paused. "You can tell me, you know. I won't bite." Receiving no response, her sympathetic eyes lighted upon the photograph beside the bed. Thomas realized too late that he had forgotten to hide it away. She drew the picture closer to the light. Immediately, she spotted the resemblance to the tousled young man before her, the same dark hair and pale skin, but the woman was older, and her smile radiated a warmth that Thomas' lacked. "Who is she?" the housekeeper inquired pleasantly.

Thomas hesitated. "My mother."

"Well, she's a lovely woman indeed." Mrs. Hughes returned the photograph to the night table.

"Yes, she was. She's dead."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"Please, don't tell anyone. I don't like people to know."

The housekeeper assured him. "As you wish, but now I'm going back to my dinner. Are you coming down?"

"I'm not hungry." Actually, he thought he might be sick.

"We'll miss you."

Thomas flashed her a bitter smile. "I don't think that's quite true, is it?"

"Can I give you a bit of advice, my boy? Give people a chance. You might find they're not so bad after all." She nodded toward the picture. "I bet if she were here, she'd tell you the same thing."

Thomas nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I believe she would." The housekeeper offered him an encouraging smile, and after lighting the candle perched beside the bed, she left the room.

Thomas had loved his mother dearly and missed her very much. Although he spent much of his youth working with his father in the clock shop, he was always more her child than his. The gruff clockmaker didn't know what to make of his proud, sensitive son but was determined to do right by the boy. He taught him to play cricket and made sure he knew how to defend himself in a fight. He believed in the old adage, _Spare the rod and spoil the child_, and Thomas was never spared. As the years passed, the father slowly began to realize something about his growing son that the boy was only beginning to sense himself. He could hardly bear to look at the lad and rarely spoke to him except to criticize. In turn, Thomas became sullen and resentful.

The mother tried to shield her son from the worst of his father's ill humors. But even her paltry protection failed when she became sick. Thomas quit school in order to care for her as his sister was busy with her own growing family. The father spent most evenings at the pub, often coming home late at night drunk and spoiling for a fight. On those occasions, Thomas wisely kept out of sight.

When his mother died, Thomas was inconsolable. She was the only one who really loved him, and she was gone. He cried most of that night and for several nights after, alone in his tiny room above the clock shop. Now all these years later in his room at Downton Abbey, he was surprised to find that his cheeks were again wet with tears. He wiped his face roughly with the backs of his hands and staggered off to the bathroom.

* * *

Christmas finally arrived with the usual flurry of excitement. The servants waited respectfully upstairs to receive their accustomed gift from the family. Thomas accepted his from Lord Grantham himself, a bottle of His Lordship's finest brandy for which the footman uttered a sincere thank you. Downton tradition dictated that the staff enjoyed their Christmas dinner at noon while the family had theirs at night. Mrs. Patmore and the kitchen maids had been busily preparing for days, and now the servants' hall table was covered with a dizzying array of tasty treats.

When Thomas had eaten all he could, he slipped into the yard to smoke a cigarette. He knew that he wouldn't be missed. Last night's frost still clung heavily to the trees, giving the world a still, peaceful look. It made him feel very lonely. Soon he heard light footsteps on the bricks coming toward him. He turned expecting to see Miss O'Brien but was surprised instead to find Anna. She was holding out a small package to him. "You left before I could give you this."

The footman's face clearly showed his surprise. "What is it?"

"Why not open it and see?" she teased. He gave the petite woman a quizzical glance, while his long, pale fingers removed the ribbon and paper. He opened the box and removed the soft, black item inside. "It's a scarf. I knitted it myself," Anna informed him. "I didn't want you catching a cold out here."

Thomas remained silent for several seconds, not trusting his voice to speak. Finally, he managed to croak out a small, "Thank you."

"Happy Christmas, Thomas." The housemaid raised herself up on her tiptoes and wrapped the scarf around his neck. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before returning to the warmth and camaraderie of the servants' hall. Thomas watched her go in stunned disbelief.


	4. Chapter 4

With the holidays over, it was time for the Servants' Ball, an annual tradition for the family and staff alike. The servants would don their finest clothes and dance dutifully with various members of the Crawley family. Thomas had no interest in socializing with the family or with the other servants, for that matter, but he did enjoy dancing, and of course, there would be plenty of good food and drink.

Mr. Carson opened the ball with Her Ladyship while Lord Grantham followed with Mrs. Hughes. Ladies Mary, Edith, and Sybil respectively partnered Mr. Watson, Martin, and Thomas. Thomas liked Sybil. She had always been kind to him, and she proved to be a capable dance partner. They conversed easily while Edith looked on enviously over the shoulder of the dowdy Martin. For the next dance, Thomas approached Lady Mary. "May I have this dance, m'lady?"

Mary shrugged. "Why not?" The dance was a waltz. The two made a handsome pair gliding gracefully across the dance floor, their dark heads twirling with the music. The footman led confidently while Mary followed, impressed in spite of herself. "You dance well, Thomas. Where did you learn?"

"My mother taught me, m'lady."

"That must have cheered up all those maids and farmers' daughters in Liverpool."

"I'm from Manchester, m'lady."

"What does it matter?"

Thomas gritted his teeth. He wouldn't let himself be goaded into a response. He knew that she enjoyed having a poke at him. He also knew that Mr. Carson would be watching, and he couldn't afford another black mark. When the song ended, he merely bobbed his head at her and hurried away. He spied Miss O'Brien standing by the punchbowl and joined her. She smiled in amusement at the look of suppressed rage on his face. "Didn't you enjoy your dance with Lady Mary?"

"I can think of a lot of other things to call her besides 'lady.' "

"Don't let Mr. Carson hear you talk like that. He thinks the sun rises and sets on her."

Thomas reached for a cup of punch and glowered in silence. The elegant aristocrat always made him feel foolish. He desperately strived to appear refined and sophisticated, but he knew she saw right through his cool façade.

One by one, the family members excused themselves and slipped away. The servants were then free to relax and really enjoy themselves. The talk became louder, and the laughter more boisterous. In the corner, several maids congregated in need of a dance partner. They shot hopeful glances at the brooding footman to no avail. Miss O'Brien nodded toward the girls. "They're waiting for you to ask them to dance, you noodle."

"Oh, so what?"

"Aren't you going to put them out of their misery?"

Thomas didn't reply.

The lady's maid continued suggestively. "But perhaps girls aren't your cup of tea."

His head snapped around. "What do you mean by that?"

"There's been talk."

"People should mind their own bloody business."

"Don't blame me. I'm just telling you what I heard. But it's true, isn't it?"

Thomas stormed away. He spotted Anna chatting with one of the hallboys. "Dance with me! Now!" he ordered, dragging her onto the dance floor. She looked puzzled as she placed a tiny hand on his shoulder. He grabbed her waist and began to lead her about.

"Whatever's wrong, Thomas?" she asked uneasily.

"What could be wrong?" He fixed her with a sickly smile. "You like me, don't you? You always act like you do anyway."

"Of course, I like you. We're friends."

"Is that what we are?" He pulled her tightly against him.

"You're holding me too close. People are beginning to stare." She tried to pull away, but he was too strong. "Let go of me, Thomas." She escaped from his grasp and sped away, leaving the embarrassed footman alone on the dance floor. He angrily made his way up the back staircase to his room. Slamming the door loudly, he began to tear off his clothes. Did everyone know about him?

Since coming to Downton, he had been very discreet. His only encounters were with anonymous men in York. No names or other personal information were ever exchanged, but what if someone had seen him and recognized him? What if the information had somehow gotten back to Mr. Carson or even to Lord Grantham himself? His mind raced with the horrifying possibilities.

Thomas knew if he were caught, he would lose his job at the abbey and would probably never work in England again. Under the law, he would be sent to prison for a term of hard labor which he was convinced he wouldn't survive. Maybe he should just leave there tonight, but where would he go? He couldn't return to his father's house, and his sister had little enough room as it was. He hadn't forgotten what it was like living on the streets when he couldn't find work, having to steal and perform degrading acts just to survive. He couldn't go back to that way of life.

The footman curled up in his bed in a ball. He tried to quell his rising fear, reasoning calmly and logically. Nothing had happened yet, and any allegations could always be denied. Miss O'Brien had probably just been toying with him in order to provoke a reaction. If so, he had undoubtedly confirmed her suspicions with his erratic behavior. But he also knew that she liked him and wouldn't want to cause him any trouble. Maybe things would look brighter in the morning. With that hopeful thought in mind, he fell into a troubled sleep.

The next morning, breakfast was a subdued affair with many of the servants feeling somewhat the worse for wear. Thomas noticed that Anna was intentionally avoiding making eye contact with him. He felt bad for the way he had so thoughtlessly used her the night before. After the meal ended, he attempted to corner her, but she slipped past him. Later, he saw her coming down the back staircase as he was coming up. He waited for her on the landing. "Can I please speak with you?"

The diminutive young woman stopped but still refused to look at him.

Thomas began. "I'm sorry if I hurt you last night. I guess I had too much to drink. I apologize." He hoped that she would accept the excuse.

Now, she did look at him, her blue eyes blazing. "From the first day we met, I've been nothing but kind to you even when everyone told me I was wasting my time. I told myself that I saw something fine in you that the others were missing, that beneath all your rudeness and arrogance, there was a good and decent man. Last night, I realized I was wrong."

He felt a wave of panic rise up in him. He had unknowingly come to rely on her gentle presence in his life. "You're not wrong, Anna." His voice quavered with suppressed emotion. "Don't give up on me," he begged. "Please, don't give up on me."

She made no reply and continued to make her way down the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

Thomas had ceased his weekly visits to York, citing the excuse of the cold, winter weather. He had heard no more gossip about his sexual proclivities since Miss O'Brien's remark at the Servants' Ball, but he didn't want to take any chances. His free evenings were now spent at the village pub, drinking and playing cards late into the night. His blank expression made him a natural poker player, and he usually walked away from the table a winner.

He and Anna had repaired their damaged relationship somewhat, but Thomas knew she remained wary of him. After dinner one night, he spotted her sitting alone in the servants' hall. She was staring into the fire, looking strangely pensive. "You seem mighty serious tonight," he joked, flashing her a wide grin.

She didn't return the smile. "I was just wondering if I'll ever have what I truly want."

"Oh, and what's that then?" Thomas asked playfully.

"I want to meet a good man and fall in love."

His voice became serious. "I don't know why you couldn't have that. Any man would be lucky to be with you."

She did smile now. "Any man but you, you mean. Have you ever been in love, Thomas?"

The question startled the footman into an honest admission. "Yes."

"What was she like?"

He couldn't tell her about Donny, of course. "It was a long time ago." He made a pretense of looking at the clock. "It's getting late. I guess I'll go up." He started to move toward the door.

"Why won't you talk to me? I wish I knew what you're hiding."

"You wouldn't understand. Goodnight." He dashed up the four flights of stairs to his room. He hadn't thought about Donny in a long time, but his conversation with Anna had stirred up old memories. After his mother's death, Thomas had not returned to school. He had no idea what to do with himself, so he went to work in the clock shop. He had an affinity for clocks; he understood them and respected them. This pleased his father who wished the boy to follow in his footsteps. He hoped, rather than believed, that the lad might straighten himself out, now that his mother was no longer around to fuss over him.

Thomas first met Donny Turner when he entered the shop with a broken pocket watch in need of repair. He found himself immediately drawn to the brawny, blond farmhand with the cornflower blue eyes. His palms were sweating as he wrote up the repair order, asking the young man's name and address.

"It's Turner—Donny Turner. I'm working out at the Hillman farm, helping with the harvest."

He knew the place. It lay just outside the city. "I'm Thomas Barrow," he blurted out abruptly, his cheeks reddening. He added, "You can pick up the watch in a week."

"Well then, Thomas Barrow, I look forward to seeing you next week." Donny gave him a sweet smile before exiting the shop. But Thomas couldn't wait that long, and three days later, he found himself heading down the lane leading to the Hillman farm. It was early evening, and the men were just returning from the fields. He soon spotted the young farmhand, his tanned skin covered with dirt and sweat. Donny saw him too and motioned for Thomas to follow him. They stepped into the cool shade behind an old barn where they wouldn't be seen. "What are you doing here, Thomas?"

Thomas was flattered that he had remembered his name. He pulled out the pocket watch. "I wanted to bring you this. I got it working again."

Donny took the timepiece, looking perplexed. "You came all the way out here to bring it to me?"

"I wanted to see you again." He took the other boy's rough hand in his, bracing himself for the inevitable punch that such a declaration would invoke.

Donny pulled his hand away and hissed, "Not here. Meet me at ten o'clock in King's Park, near the gate."

That night, Thomas had his first sexual experience. Donny was a surprisingly patient and gentle lover, kissing him tenderly and stroking his thick, dark hair with his calloused hands. They met often after that, laughing and talking for hours and having occasional sex when and where they could. Thomas' father noticed the difference in his son. Gone was the sullen, resentful boy of the last two years, replaced by his happy, smiling lookalike. He held out hope that there was a girl involved, closing his mind to the more horrifying possibility.

One Sunday, the clockmaker set out to visit his brother in a nearby town. Knowing he would be gone most of the day, Thomas invited Donny to come over. They talked for a bit before making their way to the bedroom. After they were both spent, they fell into a contented sleep, wrapped tightly in each other's arms. They were awakened by the sound of Thomas' father's angry voice as he pulled his son to the floor. Donny jumped out of the bed and quickly slipped out the door. The elder Barrow bellowed after him, "If I ever see you again, I'll fetch the police. Do you hear me?" He then turned to Thomas, his voice quivering with rage. "Get out of here now, and don't come back. I never want to see you again."

"Where will I go?" the boy asked meekly.

"You can go to hell for all I care. Get your things and get out."

Thomas gathered his few possessions and made his way to the Hillman farm. He saw a smallish man crossing the yard. "Excuse me, can you tell me where I could find Donny Turner?"

"You're too late, lad. He collected his pay and left not half an hour ago."

His heart dropped. "Did he say where he was going?"

The man shook his head and continued on his way.

Thomas looked down in order to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. In the course of a day, he had lost his home, his job, his father, and now Donny. He spent the night in the park sobbing quietly before finally falling into a troubled sleep.

The next day, he applied at the various cotton mills in the area and was lucky enough to get taken on by one. The work was rough and heavy, and Thomas was ill-suited for it. Still, as he reminded himself, beggars couldn't be choosers. He rented a room nearby and managed to eke out a living, if not a life. He was there for several years before an argument with a superior got him sacked. After that, he drifted around the north of England, taking odd jobs when he could get them and gathering a few respectable references along the way. When the work was scarce and the money ran low, he often stole in order to eat. On a few occasions when things became truly desperate, he was forced to exchange sexual favors for money which sickened him immensely.

Thomas hated himself and his life. He often considered ending it all, but something always held him back. He seldom thought about Donny anymore. It just hurt too much. He bounced around from place to place eventually finding himself in York. Upon his arrival, he purchased a copy of the local newspaper at a corner stand and turned immediately to the jobs column. There his eyes spotted an opening for a footman at a large manor house in the county. He turned to the florid, jovial man running the stand and asked, "Excuse me, sir, do you happen to know what a footman is?"

The man considered the question carefully before replying, "I think it's a kind of waiter for toffs. The pay's not much, but they give you a room and three meals a day. Pretty easy work, if you ask me."

Thomas smiled broadly. "Thank you." That night, he posted a letter to a Mr. Charles Carson in the nearby village of Downton requesting an interview. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope.


	6. Chapter 6

Winter soon turned to spring, and spring to summer. Once more, the Crawleys and their servants were headed to London to bask in the delights of the season. This time it was Lady Edith's turn. The night of her ball arrived, filling Thomas with a sense of déjà vu. There was the same elaborate food, the same dull music, and most of the same dreary guests. And again, Thomas and Martin circulated through the crowd, dispensing endless glasses of sparkling champagne. Although it was Edith's night, most of the men continued to flock around her older sister, including the Duke of Crowborough. Lady Mary was obviously taken with the duke, or at least, taken with the idea of becoming a duchess. Thomas wondered if she would still be so keen if she knew what he knew about the young peer.

As the night wore on, the drinking continued, and the voices became louder. Guests lined up at the buffet table to sample the savory delicacies that Mrs. Patmore and the kitchen staff had carefully prepared. His tray now full of empty glasses, Thomas was about to head downstairs when he heard a man's voice beside him. "I wonder if you could help me. I seemed to have spilled something on my jacket."

He turned to see the duke smiling slyly at him. "I could ask Lord Grantham's valet to take a look at it, Your Grace. I'm sure he would know what to do."

"I wouldn't want to be a bother. Perhaps we could find a bathroom and take care of it together."

The footman looked nervously about the room. Mr. Carson was still positioned by the door, and Martin was on the other side of the ballroom. This was madness, but he couldn't see any way out. He nodded slightly as he led the duke to a seldom used bathroom far away from the crowd. "I'll get a cloth."

"Never mind that." The other man pulled him into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. "What's your name?"

"It's Thomas, Your Grace."

"Well, Thomas, do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are? I couldn't take my eyes off you all evening." He ran one finger down the footman's cheek, stopping at the full upper lip. He then cupped his face in both hands and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. Thomas didn't respond, not believing what was happening.

The duke's hand slid lower, gently rubbing Thomas' crotch until he let out an involuntary moan. "Your Grace." The aristocrat then dropped to his knees and proceeded to unbutton Thomas' trousers. He took the footman in his mouth, watching the handsome face blissfully respond to his movements. Thomas reached backward, clutching the sink and giving in to the exquisite pleasure of the duke's attentions. Suddenly, with a stifled cry, it was over. Almost immediately, he began to stammer out an embarrassed apology as he hurriedly buttoned his trousers.

The duke stared intently into his eyes, a strange smile playing on his lips. "I've taken a suite at the Ritz. Will you come to see me there, Thomas?"

The servant felt as if he'd stepped through the looking glass. "I'm not sure I could get away."

"You must try."

Thomas merely nodded. He opened the bathroom door slightly to make sure there was no one about before exiting, leaving the peer to follow on his own. Upon returning to the ballroom, Mr. Carson descended on him immediately. "And where have you been hiding?" he demanded angrily.

The duke had reappeared and quickly intervened. "I'm afraid he was with me. I seemed to have soiled my jacket, and he was helping me with it."

"Your Grace." Mr. Carson became flustered. "Can I fetch a valet to assist you?"

"No, as I said, this man here helped me."

Thomas couldn't help adding, "It was my pleasure, Your Grace," before walking away. The butler watched him go, a puzzled expression on his face.

A few days later, Mr. Carson announced that the duke would be escorting the entire Crawley family to a cricket match at Lord's that afternoon. Afterward, he would be returning with them for dinner. The servants speculated that an engagement between the peer and Lady Mary would soon be announced. Why else was he spending so much time with the family? Thomas had his own idea.

The Crawleys and their esteemed guest returned to the house early that evening in time to change for dinner. The duke hadn't brought his valet with him as he would not be staying the night. Mr. Carson planned to see to His Grace himself but was surprised when the aristocrat suggested the helpful footman from the ball. What was the world coming to when a duke was being dressed by a second footman? Thomas hurried up to the room where the peer was already waiting, knocking discreetly on the door before entering. The duke's face lit up when he saw him. "Thomas. I've missed you. Why haven't you come to see me?"

"I haven't had the chance, Your Grace."

"Well, I happen to know the family is going out tomorrow night, so you won't be needed here."

"I'm not sure Mr. Carson will let me go. He keeps a pretty close eye on me."

"Let me take care of that. And now, I'd really better get dressed."

At dinner that night, Lady Mary was seated next to the duke, smiling and flirting shamelessly once again while Lady Edith sulked at the other end of the table. As Thomas leaned in to serve the peer, a hand brushed his knee under the table. He felt as if he were appearing onstage in a farce. The duke then turned to Lady Grantham. "Your servants must be excited to be in London. There's so much for them to see and do here."

"I'm afraid we've kept them rather busy preparing for the ball." She turned to the butler who was pouring wine for Lord Grantham. "Carson, the duke is right. We must let the servants have some time off while they're here. They've worked very hard, and they deserve a little fun."

Mr. Carson sighed. "As you wish, Your Ladyship."

The next morning, Thomas received a letter from the duke in the early post. It contained instructions on what to do when he arrived at the hotel that evening. It was simply signed _Philip_. He smiled slightly and looked up to find both Anna and Miss O'Brien studying him curiously. After breakfast was over, he approached the harried butler. "Mr. Carson, I was wondering if I might be allowed to go out this evening as the family will be dining elsewhere. An old friend, uh—Phil, wrote and asked me to join him for dinner."

The butler was about to refuse, but he remembered Her Ladyship's request from the night before. "Oh, I suppose so, but be back by ten. And don't be late," he added. Miss O'Brien listened unseen around the corner.

That evening, Thomas entered the Ritz wearing his black suit and approached the front desk. "I'm here to see the Duke of Crowborough on a matter of business. He's expecting me."

The desk clerk gave him a look of mild distaste. "The duke is expecting _you_?"

"Yes, if you'll just ring his room. The name is Carson." Thomas thoroughly enjoyed the duke's jab at the butler. The desk clerk reluctantly made the call. Thomas watched his expression change as the aristocrat demanded that he be shown up immediately.

Upon entering the suite, the duke was pleased to see him again. "Did you have any trouble getting away?"

Thomas flashed him a broad smile. "I told Mr. Carson I was having dinner with my old friend, Phil."

The other man laughed heartily at that. "I thought we'd dine here in the room." He handed Thomas a menu. "Order anything you like." Thomas studied the menu carefully, finally settling on the only thing he could pronounce. The duke called in their order, and soon a cart was wheeled in carrying the dinner with a bottle of expensive champagne resting in an ice bucket below. The duke removed the silver cloche covering his plate as Thomas poured the champagne. When they finished eating, he pushed the cart out into the hall, so the two wouldn't be disturbed.

The duke took Thomas' hand and gently led him into the bedroom. He then proceeded to undress the footman slowly, delighting in the contrast of the soft, dark chest hair over the creamy, white skin. "Thomas Barrow, you are the most beautiful man I have ever set eyes on." Thomas kissed him tenderly and then with more urgency as the duke hastily removed his own clothes. They slipped between the satiny sheets and found pleasure in each other's bodies for the next hour. Afterward, the men remained in bed, Thomas smoking a cigarette. He began to chuckle softly. "What's so funny?" the duke inquired.

"I was just imagining the look on Lady Mary's face if she could see us now." He found the idea oddly gratifying. "I think she plans on becoming a duchess."

The duke looked troubled. "Yes, I know. She's a charming woman, and I do have to marry and produce an heir, but I need a wealthy wife."

"And Lady Mary isn't wealthy?" Thomas sounded incredulous.

"When Lord Grantham dies, everything goes to his cousin. Lady Mary's dowry when she marries might be generous, but it's not enough to keep me afloat."

"Then you're—"

"I'm broke, Thomas, or soon will be anyway. The money is nearly gone." The footman left soon after, recalling Mr. Carson's order to be in by ten. He and the duke were able to meet several times in the following weeks before the family's return to Yorkshire. The London season had proven to be a highly enjoyable interlude.


	7. Chapter 7

That fall, the first footman, Martin, turned in his notice. He had secured a valet position working for a retired colonel in Essex. His departure would elevate Thomas to first footman. Anna was quick to congratulate him on his upcoming promotion. She had already been appointed head housemaid as the turnover rate for maids was much higher than that for footmen. Many of the young women found they preferred to work in a factory or a shop, or they simply left to get married. Thomas' rise in rank would leave Mr. Carson without a second footman.

The butler had recently been approached by one of the neighboring tenant farmers, a Mr. Mason, asking about a place for his son, and in due course, William was taken on. From the start, there was something about the new footman that Thomas disliked. Maybe it was the sweet, simple demeanor of the young, farm lad with his shy smile and trusting blue eyes. One only had to look at him to see that he had never had an unloved moment in his life. It was apparent in his open, artless manner and the smell of soap and water that followed him like a cloud. Everyone above and below stairs liked him immediately. Although he would never admit it, Thomas was jealous.

Now and then, he received a letter from the duke, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the sharp-eyed O'Brien. One morning, Mr. Carson handed him an envelope postmarked from London. He eagerly scanned the note detailing how the peer was missing him, unaware that she was studying him intently. "Is that from your friend, Phil?" the lady's maid inquired innocently.

Thomas' face registered shock before settling back into his normal expressionless mask. "It is actually, although I don't know how you know about him."

"I heard you ask Mr. Carson for time off to see him when we were last in London."

"He's an old friend from home who lives there now, that's all, Miss O'Brien."

"Perhaps you could invite him to join us for tea the next time we're down south. I'm sure we'd all like to meet him." She was thoroughly enjoying herself now, reveling in his obvious discomfort.

"Maybe I will." He set down his teacup and exited the servants' hall. Later, he would lovingly file this letter with the others in a bureau drawer in his room.

* * *

Early in the new year, Mr. Watson, His Lordship's valet, announced his plans to retire. Thomas was tired of being a footman and saw this as his opportunity to advance. He decided to consult Miss O'Brien on how best to proceed. He discovered her smoking in the kitchen courtyard. "Did you know old Watson was leaving?"

"Good riddance, I say."

He gave a small chuckle. "I wouldn't mind having that job though."

"You don't want much, do you?"

"You could help me."

She shot him an amused glance. "Why would I want to help you?"

Thomas was prepared for her question. "I could keep you informed about Lord Grantham and you could do the same for me with Her Ladyship. Together, we would know everything that goes on around here."

The lady's maid paused to consider his proposal. "Talk to Mr. Carson. Tell him you'd like to give it a go. I'll mention it to Lady G. and make her think it was her idea. She'll be sure to tell His Lordship."

That evening, he took her advice. He found the butler in his pantry decanting a bottle of red wine for that night's dinner. "May I have a word, Mr. Carson?"

Without looking up from his work, the older man replied in an exasperated tone. "What is it now, Thomas?"

"With Mr. Watson leaving, Lord Grantham will be needing a new valet. I wonder if I might give it a try."

_"__You want to dress His Lordship?"_ The butler's voice was incredulous.

"I have dressed people before."

"You've helped out with the odd visitor from time to time, but as for valet to the Earl of Grantham . . ." He shuddered. The idea was too ludicrous for words.

"I attended the Duke of Crowborough when we were in London. I believe he was very satisfied."

"Enough now. I'll speak to His Lordship and let you know his decision."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson." The time finally came for Mr. Watson to make his departure, and Thomas was grudgingly allowed to assist Lord Grantham. Carson was quick to remind him that the position was merely a temporary one until a proper valet could be found, but Thomas was determined to make the most of the opportunity. The butler had taken him through the basics, and over the next few weeks, he became a competent valet. However, he sensed that Lord Grantham was uncomfortable around him. Perhaps the earl had heard gossip about his sexual preference and questioned his motives in seeking the position. He had nothing to fear on that score as Thomas had no interest in the pudgy, middle-aged aristocrat.

He attempted to engage Lord Grantham on a variety of subjects including cricket which he knew him to be passionate about. The previous summer, the footman had impressed him with his athletic ability when the house team faced off against the village. Although they lost, Thomas scored most of their runs, earning him a pat on the back from the peer, but even that topic failed to generate much conversation between master and servant. Thomas' chances of staying on now seemed to be dwindling fast. He would write to the duke and enlist his help in finding a valet position elsewhere.

That spring, William became smitten with the new kitchen maid, Daisy, a plain, slow-witted, dreamy sort of girl. For his part, Thomas couldn't discern anything special about her, but then, as Miss O'Brien once observed, girls weren't really his cup of tea. Still, he enjoyed witnessing William's awkward efforts to woo the young maiden. It provided him with some much-needed entertainment downstairs. For her part, she showed no interest in William, having immediately set her sights on the handsome, worldly Thomas. He thought it a sign of her good taste. He encouraged her interest with a quick joke or a flirty smile while William could only look on in pained silence. He didn't know why he did it. Perhaps it was to annoy the younger footman, or maybe he did it just because he felt like it.

Anna was quick to notice. "I think she has a crush on you." They seemed to talk less and less these days as Thomas gravitated more towards the prickly O'Brien. "You must be careful not to break her heart," she added.

Mrs. Patmore's style was more direct. "Leave her alone, Thomas. Stop teasing her."

He pretended to be affronted. "Isn't it possible that I'm really interested in her? After all, I'm a man, and she's a woman."

The cook looked up at him seriously now. "You're a troubled soul, Thomas, and I won't let you hurt that young girl."

He felt his mouth go dry. "I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Patmore."

"Oh, I think you do."

He turned and walked away, his broad shoulders bowed. If old Ma Patmore knew about him, then everyone else must know too.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas had been reading about a new ocean liner, a vessel of enormous size and grandeur called the Titanic. It would soon set off from Southampton, making the long voyage across the sea to America. It was reported to be the largest passenger ship ever built and one of the most luxurious. He had seriously considered applying to be a steward, working his way over to America and a new life, but in the end, he chose not to go. This proved to be a fateful decision on the morning of April 15 when news of the ship's sinking appeared on the front page of all the day's newspapers. Many of the male passengers and most of the crewmembers had drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. Had he gone, he would most likely be dead. It seemed impossible to believe that the once unsinkable ship now lay on the bottom of the ocean.

But that wasn't to be the only bad news that day. The valet that Lord Grantham had personally hired was expected to arrive later, dashing all Thomas' hopes of staying on. The duke had agreed to find him a valet position if he wanted to leave, but the footman was hesitant to go. After two years, Downton had become his home, and the other servants, for better or worse, his family. He knew them now, though they would never be friends. In turn, they seemed to accept him, most knowing or at least suspecting his secret.

He shaved and dressed before going downstairs to retrieve the empty glasses from the night before and help lay the table for the family's breakfast. He spotted William already spreading the cloth and scowled. "Where have you been?"

The younger man responded pleasantly without looking up from his work. "I'm not late, am I?"

"You're late when I say you're late." Thomas' mood didn't improve during breakfast or later while dressing Lord Grantham.

The earl was caught up in the news of the Titanic's sinking, prattling away while he turned a deaf ear. Eventually, the aristocrat noticed the footman's lack of interest and correctly guessed the reason. "I want to thank you for filling in until I could find a new valet. You've done well, Thomas, and I'm grateful."

"Thank you, m'lord." He tried not to sound as glum as he felt. He returned downstairs to inform Mrs. Patmore that His Lordship was dressed and ready for breakfast to be served.

A half hour later, he slipped outside for a smoke where Miss O'Brien was already waiting. "Have you heard the news?" she asked him.

"What's that then?" Thomas inquired disinterestedly, still feeling very sorry for himself.

"It seems that both Mr. Crawley and Mr. Patrick were aboard the Titanic when it sank."

"What?" She had his full attention now.

"I was bringing Her Majesty her breakfast when Lord G. told her the news. He said that neither of them had been picked up. So what now? Is Lady Mary an heiress or not?"

Thomas thought immediately of the duke and resolved to let him know as soon as possible that Lady Mary's prospects may have greatly improved. He was hoping to entice him to Downton, so they could be together again.

The morning wore on with everyone both upstairs and down in a state over the deaths of the heir presumptive and his son. No one cared or even noticed how upset Thomas was at being passed over for the valet position. He wanted to crawl back to his room like an injured animal to lick his wounds. He got as far as the back staircase when he heard O'Brien call after him, "He's here."

Thomas pretended not to understand. "Who's here?"

"His name is Bates, but I don't see him lasting long."

He felt a small flicker of hope. "Why not?"

"You'll see." She gave him a mysterious, little smile as they made their way downstairs.

Thomas spotted the new valet immediately upon entering the kitchen. He was as tall as the footman but much heavier, rather stocky in fact. There was something about him that inexplicably reminded Thomas of his father. But the thing that caught everyone's eye was his pronounced limp and his use of a stick. Thomas couldn't believe that Lord Grantham had chosen this sad, old cripple over him. As a further insult, Mr. Carson assigned him the task of showing the newcomer about.

Thomas delighted in leading the valet up the endless series of stairs to his bedroom, then down again to His Lordship's dressing room. He hurriedly ran through the duties of the job, purposely omitting any detail that might be in any way helpful. Bates sensed the younger man's resentment. He knew that the footman had been filling in before he arrived and had undoubtedly hoped to stay on. He tried to cover the awkwardness with pleasant small talk, but Thomas was having no part of it and finally, walked off.

At luncheon, Mr. Carson was pontificating on the greatness of the Crawley family when Lord Grantham himself walked in. His Lordship apologized for the interruption and went to greet his new valet enthusiastically. It turned out that Bates had been the earl's batman when he fought in the second Boer war in South Africa. Thomas felt his heart sink. The bastards were old friends. He and Miss O'Brien exchanged a look of displeasure.

Later, Thomas slipped down to the village to send a telegram to the duke about Lady Mary's situation. He was now resigned to leaving Downton as there was no room for advancement in the foreseeable future. He was secretly hoping that the duke would find other work for his valet and take him on himself. That would give them plenty of opportunity to be together without anyone questioning the nature of their relationship. Upon his return to the abbey, he found Miss O'Brien smoking in the courtyard. She offered him a cigarette, and the talk quickly turned to the new valet. They both agreed that he was probably a spy hired to keep an eye and ear on the downstairs staff and report back to the earl. Thomas vowed to get even if it was the last thing he did.


End file.
